Partings
by Caeyle
Summary: The last of the fellowship finally part- forever.


Title: Partings  
  
Author: Caeyle  
  
Rated: G  
  
  
  
  
  
"It is time." Ithil, the silver moon, waxed heavy in the dark sky. A pair of eyes watched from a high window in Imladris, moonlight playing off his hair and ears. The elf turned back to the room. He was not old, nor was he young, though by elvish standards he still might be called so. No bit of silver showed in his golden locks, and his movements were swift as ever, but his eyes, bright, leaf-green eyes, were ageless, wise. Weary. There was none of the young eagerness sparkling in them, nor any of the arrogance. They were proud, yes, but weary.  
  
Gimli son of Gloin turned, studying the golden head for a moment. He stood up slowly, carefully, as he was wont to do in his old age. "I never thought I would live to hear you say that, Legolas." He went over to the elf, standing by him.  
  
Legolas turned his head to meet the dwarf's eyes. "Why not? The sea calls, more insistently than ever. I must answer it."  
  
"You cannot be a thousand years yet!" Gimli exploded. "You are still young!"  
  
"But you are not." His green eyes were as calm as ever, but there was sorrow flickering in them. "Surely you do not think I will stay here. stay, when all the others have gone." The dwarf made as to speak, but Legolas shook his head slightly, cutting him off. "I have no place here, on Arda. Aragorn is dead. Meriadoc and Peregrin are dead. Gandalf, Frodo, and Samwise are gone. Elrond is gone, Galadriel is gone, Arwen is gone. We are the only two left, Gimli. You will not live forever, and I have no wish to be alone in this world."  
  
"Your father." Gimli started.  
  
"I do not know why my father has not left. Even if he should, I have no responsibility in Mirkwood. The youngest son of three will never be naught but a prince. I feel as if we have been wandering aimlessly now. Everything we have yet to see. we have seen it all before, and more. Even Imladris, even Lothlorien. They are losing their magic; they will be great cities, nothing more." He shook his head. "The age of magic is over. Our age is over."  
  
For once, Gimli had naught to say. It was the truth, the truth they had both tried to deny for so long. This age was golden, peaceful and prosperous. There was not even the slightest unrest, Aragorn had seen to that. It was not their age. Their age was one full of havoc, chaos, violence, adventure, danger. It was not a time to love, certainly not a time to wish to be born in, but it was a time they were familiar with. It came to an end when Aragorn died.  
  
Aragorn. All of us loved him in our own way. All of us needed him, Gimli realized. Even Boromir knew, in that short time. Eldarion would be a great king, but he was not his father, nor would he ever be.  
  
Slowly, understandingly, Gimli nodded. "Perhaps the Havens will give you peace, as Rivendell cannot." This time it was the dwarf who cut off the elf ere he could speak. They knew the unspoken question, they knew the unspoken answer. "No, Legolas. I cannot come with you. What would I do, a dwarf among elves? And we dwarves have no love of the sea. I must go to my own fate, as you must to yours."  
  
They turned back to the window and studied the view of Rivendell. It was a dying Rivendell, in the eyes of elves. The silence was long. "What will you do?" Legolas spoke finally, softly, almost whispering.  
  
"I will go back to the Misty Mountains, one last time," answered Gimli almost promptly. "One last journey for me, as well."  
  
Legolas sighed heavily. "Our last journeys. And this will be the first time we part in so long." Gimli felt himself choking up, and fiercely swallowed his tears. We knew we would part someday, he chided himself. "I will leave at daybreak tomorrow."  
  
"We can say our farewells tomorrow, but it seems more appropriate now, does it not?"  
  
"Yes." Legolas knelt to the same height as Gimli. "All these years you have been my friend. We have walked the roads together for long years. Live well, Gimli," he said simply.  
  
"You have taught me all elves are not the same, as I once believed. I wish I could have learned sooner. We have not had one argument, ever since. I think," he paused, checking tears that threatened to run down his face, "this last parting is the hardest."  
  
Through his tear blurred vision, he thought he saw, just for a moment, a glimmer of wetness in the elf's eye. Legolas stood, and it was gone. "Goodnight," he said softly. Then he was gone, silently as he came.  
  
The next morning, when Gimli arose, Legolas was gone. The door to his room was half-open, deserted. He went inside. The room was empty, void of anything he might recognize as Legolas's. Except. a glint of silver caught his eye. Legolas's long hunting knife lay on the bed, on top of a scrap of paper. Almost hesitantly, he picked it up. It read, in flowing elvish script:  
  
Farewell, my friend.  
  
  
  
End 


End file.
